


If You Knew The Darkness

by Foegerfeax



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-04 00:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12759024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foegerfeax/pseuds/Foegerfeax
Summary: Maeglin comes close to revealing his greatest betrayal to Salgant after attempting to drown his sorrows.





	If You Knew The Darkness

Salgant was just about to go to sleep after a late night of composing when there was a knock on the door. Cursing quietly, he tied up his dressing gown and fumbled with the latch. He yanked the door open a crack to peer into the dim hallway.

 

"Who on earth-?"

 

He stopped. Maeglin stood there. One hand grasped a nearly empty bottle, the other clutched onto the doorframe as if for support. Hair and clothes disheveled, he leaned heavily on the edge of the door, elegant fingers splayed on the dark wood like a pale spider. There was a flush about his sharp cheekbones.

 

"Evening, Salgant," he said, voice slightly slurred. "Can... I come in?"

 

"Oh, uh, of course, my Lord." He pulled the door open wider and Maeglin tripped in, stumbling on the rich carpet before steadying himself on Salgant's shoulder. He staggered again, sloshing a puddle of liquid onto the floor. The bittersweet stench of alcohol hung about him.

 

"Oops," he said, laughing humorlessly, the sound sharp and grating although his words lacked their usual icy clarity. "Sorry..."

 

"That's... quite alright. Please, take a seat while I grab something to clean that up." He gestured at the puddle of bloody crimson on the floor, backing into the little kitchen area of the front room.

 

Maeglin sat clumsily down on the couch, taking a swig of wine straight from the bottle and hiccoughing slightly.

 

After sopping up all that he could of the wine, Salgant sat down beside his inebriated companion with a heavy sigh. They sat together in silence for a moment, Maeglin pouring more of the bottle's contents into his mouth, before Salgant spoke tentatively.

 

"What brings you here at this late hour, my Lord?"

 

Maeglin looked over, usually-piercing gaze unfocused. He swallowed, saying nothing; a peculiar feverish glint lit his eyes. He retched, dark hair falling over his eyes as he threw his head forwards.

 

Then he leaned over, stomach heaving, and vomited onto the floor. Sour bile sprayed Salgant's shoes with a delicate mist of pink that was mostly wine.

 

"Maeglin," Salgant said in alarm, "You've made yourself ill! Tell me. Why exactly have you gone and drunk yourself into such a stupor? Is something wrong?"

 

Maeglin did not respond, but sat motionless; head in hands, shaking.

 

With a sigh, Salgant pulled a blanket over and wrapped it tightly around the younger elf's trembling shoulders, holding it there with an arm. He patted Maeglin uncertainly.

 

"There, there. You'll be alright. Don't mind about the floor - I'll clean it up later."

 

Maeglin mumbled something unintelligible. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

"What was that, my Lord?"

 

"Nothing." He took a gulp of wine.

 

"Maybe I can help, my Lord. Please, what is it?"

 

"Do... do you love me, Salgant?"

 

He blinked. "Well... I suppose I do, in a way, my Lord," he said carefully. "What did you mean?"

 

Ignoring the question, Maeglin slumped further down into the couch. "You shouldn't," he mumbled. He took another swig of wine. "I'm _bad_ , Salgant," he slurred, red-rimmed eyes haunted. "I'm really an awful person. I... don't deserve... love. Eru, if you knew what I've _done_!"

 

"I'm certain it's not all that bad, my Lord," Salgant said sympathetically, making a grab for the wine bottle. "Don't you think you've had enough-"

 

"I should be _dead_!" Maeglin interrupted, face tight with pain. "I'm so bad, Salgant... If you knew, you'd kill me. And I'd... I'd deserve it. I _would_." A sob escaped his throat. He buried his face in his hands.

 

"Now, now, don't say that," Salgant said in alarm. "It cannot be _all_ that bad. Why don't you try and get some sleep? Everything will look better in the morning, you'll see."

 

Maeglin's lips twisted in an ugly, wry smile, as if appreciating a cruel joke that only he could see. "I doubt that." He lifted the bottle to his lips.

 

"I don't," Salgant said firmly, wresting it from a pale hand and placing it on an adjacent table. "Now, you just relax and try to get to sleep." He squeezed Maeglin's shoulders briefly in a comforting gesture.

 

Maeglin huffed quietly.

 

"I suppose I am... a little tired..."

 

His deep dark eyes blinked once, twice, then lost their focus completely and finally closed, head lolling back. He leaned over slowly to press his face into Salgant's side, nuzzling in to find the most comfortable position. One arm crept across Salgant's chest is a loose embrace.

 

"Gi melin, Nana," he murmured sleepily.

 

His breaths grew slow and even.

 

Salgant let out a heavy sigh, pushing a strand of dark hair off Maeglin's forehead.

 

"Goodnight," he said to the empty room.


End file.
